On Your Own Now (Freydis)

Freydis rises from her curled position on the nest of bracken she's made for herself and drops her hand to the hilt of Gjallr. The smooth wood and wire of the hilt is familiar, disturbingly so for so new-forged a weapon, and she steadies herself. This is not Whitewall; her fathers are not here to protect her.

For some reason, this suits a darker part of her bemused mind just fine.

"Whistling in the dark, are we?" she calls, her voice pitched to carry and surprising her with its assertive tone. "Tell me, who comes?"

Long time coming. Terribly, terribly sorry about this; my life's been a little weird of late and my schedule's been hellish. Expect more this weekend, as I've got Monday off work and not much going Sunday.